


strawberry

by 24601lesbians



Category: Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Paramore, Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Fluff, M/M, dorks being cute, i wrote this as frerard first but josh and tyler wear it better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-08
Updated: 2016-07-08
Packaged: 2018-07-22 06:10:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7423126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/24601lesbians/pseuds/24601lesbians
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At least he didn’t bring anybody with him. It’s a little stressful to see him here up close instead of from the side counter. Tyler makes the food, Tyler warms the food, Tyler curses at the blender because fucking Satan lives in it. He doesn't do orders.</p>
            </blockquote>





	strawberry

He’s in a striped shirt today, but it’s still on the black end of the grayscale that is his closet. His hair’s still blue though, and it works better with the shirt than Tyler first noticed.

“Afternoon.”

At least he didn’t bring anybody with him. It’s a little stressful to see him here up close instead of from the side counter. Tyler makes the food, Tyler warms the food, Tyler curses at the blender because fucking Satan lives in it. He doesn’t do orders except when Hayley’s busy performing or rehearsing or whatever down the street.

“Hi, how can I help you?”

It feels like he’s looking at Tyler harder than he is. Because Tyler needs to be more self-conscious today, after having his nametag upside down on his chest for all of yesterday.

“Can I get a water and one of the Slice of Strawberry things? Please,” he adds.

“Is that all?”

He nods.

The guy puts the exact cash in his hand before Tyler knows what’s going on, and he’s still got his hand right there for the receipt. For once it prints without a problem. Then his hand is there and it’s really warm, then Tyler’s really warm, and “have a good day, sir” comes out as “sorry about that.”

He blinks, but he almost smiles a little bit as he turns away.

 

Tyler’s dropped one stupid pie, burned another, and this isn’t even his shift but covering for Hayley is one of those things that just sort of happens. He doesn’t really mind because he has nowhere to be, except the table with all the napkins and silverware. There’s an extra-large cold water to force himself awake.

“To hand cramps,” he says, and then clinks his cup on the tub of forks.

“Rough time?”

Of course he’s sitting at the table lined up with this one, and of course Tyler’s in enough light for him to see the pie filling that Tyler couldn’t get off of his clothes. He glances in the guy’s direction but doesn’t really look at him. Tyler would probably jerk and knock the bucket of knives into his lap if he blinked.

“I’m awake enough for now.”

He waits a little bit, probably to chew. “I didn’t see you this morning.” He sounds different. Tyler twists a napkin. He isn’t super surprised the guy looked for him, considering the way he just _looked_ yesterday.

“’Cause I’m here tomorrow morning. You did miss a fallen pie,” Tyler admits.

His mouth tugs upward. “Better a pie than the strawberry shortcake. We’ll remember her in our hearts.” Mock dignity looks good on him. And the gauges, and the jeans. Thank God for his jeans.

“Everyone who was standing in a five foot radius’ll remember.”

“Ouch.”

“I can wash my clothes—it’ll be fine.” And then he looks Tyler over, because it was a _fine_ idea to bring it up. He actually cracks a smile. Tyler got him to smile.

Neither of them says anything for a time, but it doesn’t feel off. Eventually he’s finished and Tyler is cracking his thumbs when he asks, “When do you leave?”

Tyler asks him what his name is.

“Josh.”

“I leave once I pack this up, Josh?”

No pause. “Dun. Would you be open to seeing a movie?”

Tyler remembers to breathe. “Sure.”

“I think the theater’s still being redone, but I’ve got good stuff at home?” His hopefulness turns it into a question.

They walk out together at quarter to ten after saying bye to Joe and Patrick. It’s not too windy, but it’s windy enough that Tyler is grateful it only takes five minutes to get to Josh’s front door; he holds it open and Tyler thanks him.

He’s confronted with brown hair and black jacket when he realizes there’s a mirror across from the door. Josh laughs once but he waits for Tyler to take his shoes off to point him to the coat hooks and show him everything else. It’s on the small side, as spaces go, but it feels pretty open. The couch is tucked neatly to the wall, and the kitchen looks comfortable. Apparently it was his uncle’s house before he sort of just walked off.

“What do you want to watch?”

“I have no idea. Can I look through the movies?”

“Sure.” Tyler sits on the floor in front of the stack. “I’m making popcorn, and if you want any, there’s water, uh, orange juice, and Red Bull. I think.”

They end up with Red Bull and Return of the Jedi, a popcorn fight, and a couch small enough that their shoulders touch. He likes this house more than he likes getting his bike and going home.

 

“Hey, do you read? And what do you read? Because I kind of work at this bookstore and it’s not massive but it’s got good stuff.”

“I read a lo—“

“Can I borrow your phone for a second?”

How does he switch topics so fast? “If you ask nicely. And why?”

“Please?”

Tyler unlocks it and passes it to him.

“I’m texting myself to remember this one book tomorrow.”

He’s smooth, but Tyler is off tomorrow and helping paint his brother’s place before Zack’s new roommate shows up. Tyler tells him so, the tomorrow part, and Josh’s face kind of falls. Not too much, though, because now he has not only Tyler’s number, but a text from him that says “bring the book, dogbreath.”

“I’m working for most of the day, but it’s not usually busy on Thursdays because Frank isn’t there long. Maybe if you get a sec, you could spam me? Or pop in or something?”

“I’ll let you know, okay?”

 

Naturally, he now has Josh to add as a contact—with his parents, siblings, and his bosses, he’ll have, like, more than five of those now. Who’s hit the milestone? Tyler made the milestone. Heck yeah.

     --bring the book, dogbreath

     --Do you text yourself with other people’s phones much

     --Also, are you always this rude to yourself?

The smell of the paint is something he’ll never get used to. He likes to paint, and it’s cool that it’s red, but his stomach isn’t having any of that. Tyler doesn’t know about keeping his food down long enough to digest, either, so he’s leaving it until the last second.

     it depends. I needed to bring the book.

     come home with me? kinda forgot the book. remembered something else tho

 _Come home with me_ bounces around the inside of Tyler’s head while he and Zack finish up. Tyler has already been over to Josh’s place, but this sounds different, like it might be more of an upstairs thing than the-other-night thing.

     --Did you find pie on your couch? Bc I’m pretty sure I told you it was a risk

     no, I found a poster in my closet. it’s two years old but you’ll probably like it

     --Okay? What time do I stop by

     we close at five today because the owners have a family thing

     --See you then

The paint is all over his hands and a little is on his ear, but he should look okay enough to pop into a bookstore. Tyler doubts the owner (he’s one of the morning caffeine regulars Tyler sees) will mind. This is another bike trip, but he thinks it’ll be worth it.

Only the door is a solid, clean white, and the rest of the storefront has been spray painted with weird designs. Once he pushes the door open, there’s an island of countertop in front of him and then books everywhere else. Three coffeemakers, three stacks of Styrofoam cups, and a cash register. The sound of the door closing has dragged Josh out of somewhere dusty—his dark shirt is striped with it. He’s got an armful of political works on his right and his left hand is somehow steadying them all. Tyler’s a little less intimidated than he was two days ago, though.

“Hey.” It fades into the library-quiet. “I’m almost done. C’mere?” And then Tyler’s taking some of the books from him and following the madly painted floor to the bright back room. Even these windows are filled with color. Tyler can see the dust floating when he sets them down. “Will you help me tuck bookmarks into like thirty of these so we can leave sooner? The dust plays hell with Frank, and Gerard keeps convincing me to do it.”

Tyler almost laughs—“I feel you rolling your eyes, but they’re sickeningly cute”—c _ome home with me_ —and then he’s getting this bookmark thing out of the way. Before he knows it, or before either of them knows it, someone’s yelling for Josh to “come talk drums with Bob because his apparently suck less cans of shark shit than the ones you sold to that one guy.”

Josh grumbles about Frank being so specific, and Tyler gets the vibe that he either doesn’t want to talk about selling drums, or doesn’t want to talk about “that one guy.”

“Hey, Bob.”

Bob flicks his fingers in an almost wave and gets right down to talking about the kit that Josh expressed interest in, so Tyler stands next to him kind of uncomfortably until they’re walking to Josh’s house. Josh still has a vague scent of paper trailing him. And it’s awesome.

His room looks like the coziest place Tyler has been in. And the sloppiest, but it smells decent enough to let that slide. His bookcase, like Tyler’s, is packed. The books are tucked in neatly, and there may be a drumstick here or there. It’s a contrast to the piles of clothes and papers and CDs. Josh is shuffling through stacks of paper on a shelf for whatever poster it was he was going to show Tyler. He’s got a whole binder when he waves me over to sit on the bed. “Gerard lets people put up posters for their shows, but he’ll let me keep the ones I like after he takes them down. This is kind of outdated, but it’s the same girl that’s your phone background. I thought you might like it?” Josh passes him the binder and it’s the poster Hayley’s first show. He remembers carrying around a stack in his backpack with her and putting them everywhere. She’d kept skipping around and doing little “I’ve had too much sugar” things with her feet.

“She sets it as a new selfie every time she sees me, which I deserve because I’m too lazy to change the lock on my phone. Wow. This is… wow.”

 

It’s Friday and Tyler is the only one besides Patrick not doing enough socializing to be anywhere else except at a table making napkin triangles until closing time, but at least he’s not pining over the co-owner and has what amounts to a date. Very soon. Josh wanted Tyler to show him how to fix something about burnt chocolate chips. Tyler doesn’t really know exactly what happened, but he guesses it was bad, or embarrassing, or both.

Right before he leaves, he decides that he’s indecisive about not bringing his bike; there are so many umbrella clusters that he would hit somebody, but it’s still raining and “buckets” doesn’t quite get the point across. It looks like anyone who has to be out in it would probably be dying to be anywhere else. Tyler has to make himself open this door and walk multiple blocks. _3, 2, 1._ And then he’s in the rain, and the rain’s in his eyes. This coat is not enough for whatever pours off the umbrellas of taller people and onto him while the thunder bellows. This stupid coat lets the cold water into his shirt until Josh’s house is finally in sight.

When Josh opens the door, Tyler gets the feeling he’s been waiting for him. “I texted you, but Joe doesn’t allow phones, does he?”

“No, and I think it’s probably soaked anyway. This isn’t exactly a quality jacket.”

Josh takes his jacket, and Tyler feels him exhale on the side of his neck as he does. It’s fucking cold. The day Tyler actually checks the weather is the day he gets soaked to the skin, like to the point of making a sad-looking puddle on Josh’s porch. He doesn’t want to “wait here for a sec,” but he does it, and then Josh comes back with this normal towel and a blessing of a huge beach towel.

“Swap me for the shirt?”

“Yep.” Trading with him, Tyler wraps himself in the huge towel and Josh wraps his shirt in the little one to squeeze the water from it. Tyler looks to the doorway. “Am I cleared to go in?”

“Yeah, come on. If you ditch your socks and shoes, they can go in the tub upstairs instead of the little bathroom. I’ll figure something out for them, maybe newspaper or whatever.” He grimaces at his phone. “My aunt decides to call once a year, but at the worst times. I’ll see you in twenty minutes if I live. Hello?”

He acts like his aunt is going to talk both ears off of him, so whatever he assumes Josh was going to say about cleaning up, Tyler doesn’t get to hear. He dries his head and shoulders in the bathroom, then comes back out. Josh has gone downstairs, and Tyler doesn’t know if there’s any chance of finding clean clothes in his room, but a pair of sweats falling apart on a chair look okay, and smell more okay. He’s got three t-shirts actually hanging up, and Tyler’s guessing they’re the ones he doesn’t like, which means there’ll be a better chance of Josh being okay with him borrowing.

Tyler moves downstairs to check the dryer, which actually has his soaked stuff in it. In the kitchen after that, Josh keeps shooting him glances. Tyler does it right back. He doesn’t care how he looks, but if Josh is going to say something, Tyler’s fine with waiting until he does. He finds a mug in the sink—literally all of Josh’s mugs are in the sink or in use—and washes it. A warm drink is good for people who get rained on.

Josh makes faces at the phone when he pulls it away from his ear every few seconds. Even Tyler can hear the final “JOSHUA WILLIAM DUN” that explodes out of it and almost twitches off of the counter he’s perched on. Once she’s done, he slumps against the edge of the sink.

“She’s ordered the wrong copy of a Shakespeare collection, but it’s the only kind we have; also, employee discounts, when she worked in retail, meant the whole thing was free.” He shudders.

“I’m not sure that’s—“

“But she is, you see.” They both laugh at that. Josh casually picks up Tyler’s mug and drinks out of it when he looks back from the window. Maybe because Tyler looks back from the window?

“Wait, that one’s mine.” Or it was.

Josh blinks with a face that’s just a little too innocent. “Thought it was mine, sorry.” And then he reaches across Tyler’s knees for his mug; somehow he avoids slopping any of its contents onto him. In the corner of his eye, Tyler see him stare at it for a long time, almost to the point where he asks if Josh is alright, before he tips it back like a shot and drains the whole thing. Tyler holds his hand out for it.

He has time to set it in the sink before Josh turns around and settles his arms around Tyler’s neck. “I like that shirt more now, I think,” he says.

“Oh,” Tyler replies (cleverly).

He thinks he kisses Josh first?

 

It turns out that the chocolate chip problem was not an excuse, because small burnt bricks sitting on a baking sheet are enough evidence for Tyler. “Josh, how long did you cook these for?” Josh’s face is so, so worried.

“The recipe said fifteen to twenty minutes, so I did twenty.”

“Josh, no.”

He insists that it’s what his mom always did.

“These cookies are so tiny that they’d burn after about ten minutes.”

Josh is really disappointed.

“I’ll show you tomorrow. Okay?”

“You think I’m kicking you out? It’s past eleven and I haven’t put your shoes in the dryer yet. Let’s find a movie.”

He definitely has nowhere to be. “Talk aliens to me.”

All of the movies in Josh’s room are scattered as hell, so once Josh gives up and offers to play music instead—he knew exactly where his laptop was—the two of them are pretty tired. They’re playing Go Fish on his nightstand, which Josh moved between the desk and the bed so that neither of them would have to get up.

Josh’s phone buzzes silently near Tyler’s elbow, where he left it. “You have a text.” And then he turns a little red around the edges when he sees the next one (“I know you’re my best friend but if you tell me he’s hot again ill kick your ass”), not that he _looks_ but it’s _there_ and he can’t really avoid seeing it. Blame his brain for reading it. Tyler leaves the phone where it is and sprawls across the bed again. A reasonable distance from the desk chair Josh planted himself in.

“Toss me the phone?” Tyler does, carefully enough for someone tossing a phone, but Josh fumbles with his hands and it hits the floor as quickly as his stomach drops.

“Don’t forget to breathe,” Tyler reminds him.

When Josh picks it up, it’s perfectly fine. They abandon the game, since both of them knocked cards into the pile when they reached for the phone. Tyler’s reading the book that was on the pen-stained nightstand when Josh flops onto his stomach next to him, his arm on Tyler’s waist. “I’m going to sleep,” he announces, and he’s out like a light.


End file.
